


Safe

by DiverseMediums



Category: Outlander
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiverseMediums/pseuds/DiverseMediums
Summary: I felt compelled to write this. It takes place prior to the ending scene of Outlander S5 so beware, here be spoilers! This is a different take from the book on what happened the night Claire felt safe again. It’s definitely NSFW and hopefully brings the feels. As always, take care of yourselves and love one another ❤️
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	Safe

The brightness and warmth of the fire had lessened with each turning of the page of the book in his hand. He hadn’t considered smooring it. Claire had been in the dark for too long. He turned his head, heart breaking a bit more. It had been cracking little by little since the moment he’d found out she was taken. 

She lay beside him, close but not touching. The slender fingers of her hands had relaxed in sleep but still lay bunched, one near her face and one on her lower belly. Jamie pushed the building rage down again, bidding it bide until the proper time. He would summon it again soon but now he would focus on Claire. 

He placed his spectacles and book on the small table by the bed, catching a glimpse of the portrait of William he’d placed there. The usual mix of longing and pride that came with that familiar visage brought only a painful twinge. He turned the portrait around. He set his mind instead on Brianna, Roger, and Jemmy. 

_ Deo gratias.  _

Claire twitched in her sleep, her brows furrowing. Jamie, knowing full well the kinds of demons that walked the dark spaces between dreams, settled carefully down beside her. If she could fight them off, that was just as well. If she could not, he would await her with whatever comfort she would ask of him. 

The marks on her pale skin had blossomed into bruises of assorted purples and yellows. Her lashes lay thick and innocent in sleep, hiding the last remaining swelling under her left eye. It couldn’t, however, hide the dark purple that bloomed around it. He hadn’t seen the full extent of her injuries, instead allowing Brianna to usher her away to wash upon their return. Claire had dressed in private since. 

Her lips parted suddenly in a quick intake of breath. Jamie watched her face intently, calculating. Claire had exercised his demons once. Could he do the same? Could he reach out for her battered soul and bring it back to the light? 

_ I survived _ , she had said. Aye, well. There was surviving and there was living. 

As his thoughts resurfaced, his eyes focused on Claire’s. How long had she been awake? Her eyes were on his hands, mere inches away from her own. She’d not looked him in eye since their ordeal and the sorrow of it made his own breath catch. 

“Jamie?” she whispered, mirroring his hands with her own. 

“Aye? Are ye hurting? D’ye need me to get-”

“No. I’m fine.”

Jamie nodded slowly, settling back down, and breathed with her. The blanket had slid off her shoulder as she’d moved, exposing more bruising that her shift couldn’t cover. Rage. Anguish. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to beat Lionel Brown into a bloody pulp and leave him to the wild pigs. He wanted to cry. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. 

“Jamie?” Claire asked again, a tentative finger reaching out and touching the back of his hand. 

“I want you to touch me.”

Jamie breathed in, then out. 

“Are ye sure?”

Claire huffed out a humorless laugh, her finger slowly tracing his palm. 

“No. But… I need you.”

He opened his left hand to her, his heart beating against the lump in his throat. 

“I’m here, mo graidh.”

She opened her own hand, lining up her finger tips with his own as she slowly caressed downward into his palm. Her thumb traced the base of his own, soft tickling circles that made his fingers itch to touch her. The mount of Venus, she’d called it once. His mouth quirked at the thought, remaining still as she explored. 

Claire’s fingers moved to the tender skin of his wrist, tracing the large vessels until they disappeared, then returned again to bring his scarred knuckles to her lips. Her breath was warm on the back of his hand, igniting something greater than rage within him. Slow. He must go slow. 

Uncurling a finger, he stroked her cheek, light as a butterfly’s wing. Claire closed her eyes, causing him to still. The line between her brows reappeared and she brushed her cheek against his hand. 

_ I want you to touch me.  _

Jamie shifted closer, fingertips tracing Claire’s face from brows to temple, forehead to nose, lips to chin. He could feel her breasts through her shift, nipples brushing his chest as her breathing quickened. Her hair smelled of marigolds and fluffed out in disarray. He stroked the strands away, the tendrils of curls brushing her skin and making her shiver. 

At that, Claire took his hand, moving his touch to her neck where the rasping of a rope still stood out on her white skin. She inched closer, flushing her body with his. He traced her throat, vulnerable as she tilted her head back. Slowly, he set his lips on the sensitive skin below her jaw. Claire arched against him and he cradled her in his arms as his lips and free hand caressed her. 

She sighed as his lips found the space above her heart. She guided his land lower through the opening in her shift, cupping it on her breast as she cradled his head with her other hand. Jamie could feel her heart pounding against him, the heat of wanting and fear radiating between their bodies. All sense was lost. There was only Claire. 

Kissing from shoulder to clavicle, chin to sternum, he slowly made his way down between her breasts. She cupped the back of his head, guiding him as he took her nipple gently in his mouth. A sigh of relief escaped Claire’s lips as she moved against him. Every gentle touch and pull of his lips elicited a response and they moved together, a slow wave of sensation anchoring them to each other. 

Jamie traced the soft skin of her thigh, behind her knee, down to her calf. He caressed her battered body, praying for healing and for guidance. Claire answered, grasping his hand and guiding it between her legs. Jamie paused for just a moment, hesitant. He moved up, placing his forehead against Claire’s as she hitched her leg over his hip. She was sure. Well then…

Jamie moved slowly, taking great care. Claire’s body was ready for him, pulsing around his hand as he guided her slowly toward the edge. She’d grasped his forearm, as if afraid he may draw away, and tucked her face into his neck. Her breath was hot and heavy as he worked. She guided him, pressure on his arm telling him what she needed. 

Suddenly she pushed his hand away, startling him. Christ had he hurt her? He rolled slightly away, shocked at the look of intensity on her face as she pulled the shift over her head. Bruised and beaten she may be, but Jamie only had eyes for hers as they stared back at him. 

“I need you,” she said, moving over him and he rolled fully onto his back. 

“I’m here,” he answered again. 

They both cried out as she took him in, urgent and desperate. Jamie followed her rhythm, meeting each thrust of her hips with enough force to elicit whimpers and moans from her lips. She was close. He could see it in her face and feel it in the trembling of her legs. 

“Jamie, please,” she whimpered, reaching for him. 

He moved a hand from her hip, pressing the point of their joining. After a few more thrusts, Claire cried out and Jamie felt himself crumble as she fell apart around him. 

——————

Sense slowly returned to him. Claire lay on his chest, her hair splayed out over her back and shoulders. He rose up slowly, cupping her behind her knees to bring her legs over his waist and tucked her head under his chin. Holding her to him, he waited, mind and body and soul in tune with hers.

“Christ, you’re a brave wee thing.”

He felt her clenched hand stir slightly on his chest. 

“Am I?” she asked, her tone breaking his heart all over again. 

“Aye.”

He shifted to look at her and her eyes met his once again. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, seeking anything her face might give away. 

She paused, not looking away. Her hand slowly uncurled, splaying gently across his chest, just over his heart. 

“Safe.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
